Crying Tears of Lies
by Kawaii Seishin
Summary: AU-People never know what they have until they lose it; that's what happens to Arthur and Francis in HETALIA Acadamy. When Francis is accused of rapping Arthur when he was drunk, all of hell breaks lose. Can this couple be saved? Yaoi, and swearing
1. Prologue

_PROLOGUE_

I'm sorry.

All I could do was stare at the door, that had only seconds before, been slammed against its frame. The crack of wood against brick still echoed in my ears.

"You promised, Francis!" He had screamed, tears leaking down his pale face and dripping off his pointed chin. "You promised that you would never take advantage of me!"

"_Mon Angleterre_..."

"Why, Francis?" He swatted my hand from his shoulder. Neon green eyes were shinning like a puppy that had just been kicked. "We both know that I have a drinking problem!" Arthur shook his head. "I trusted you to protect and help me get home safely, you know why?"

"_Angleterre_-"

"Because you're more than an ally; your a fucking friend! Maybe even something else, but not anymore, you bastard!" He wiped his tears with the back of his hand as he stormed out the door.

"I hate you!"

I closed my eyes as a tear slid down them.

I'm sorry.


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This is my disclaimer for the characters and their traits and any other copyrighted things I mentioned in the story. I do not own Hetalia or McDonald's or any other company or franachise, but I do own the plot for _Crying Tears of Lies_.

The 9th, 19th, 29th, 39th, ect. reviewer will be recognized in my story!

-x-

**_Chapter One_**

College sucks. It really, really does. Especially when you have to take your pain-in-the-ass-brother with you.

"Bye Mom! Bye Dad! Don't forget about me!" He shouted from the window at the city that was at least one hundred miles away.

"Do you think they can still hear me?" My brother asked, recoiling back into the passenger's seat in the truck. I honestly still think he has mental issues.

I was four when Alfred was born. When I first met him, I through he was the cutest thing in the word-that was such a cliche-and I took a protective, maybe even fatherly, way to him. Many people teased me for gay since I hung around him almost everyday...but somehow, those kids would always end up with a black eye when they went home.

Anyway, for the first five years of his life, Alfred was silent as...well...silence. I tired to coax him into talking, but he would almost always shove a stupid hamburger the size of a beer bottle into his mouth and smile. Finally, after all the waiting, the first words he said were, "I'm the hero, so shut-up Arthur!" I am ever-so-slightly please to say he also lost his first baby tooth that day and I had a bruised knuckle and rear, but it was worth it.

"Arthur! Arthur!" He chanted, pounding his knees with his fists, his loud voice filling up the car like a balloon. "I want Micky D's!"

"If you can shut up for ten minutes, we'll stop by there when I get-"

"But I want it now!" He whined.

I wonder how he managed to skip all those grades and end up in collage with this attitude. Technically, Alfred was supposed to be in the tenth grade, being fifteen, but this Canadian the same age that we lived next door to helped him with his geography (but there were questionable noises that came from his house at "study time").

"Can't you see I'm driving?" Oh, how I longed to slap him, but I didn't want to kill us on the highway before I arrived at collage...

...maybe slapping Alfred was a good idea...

"But I'm hungry, Iggy!"

"Go eat you're shoe! It's made out of the same shit hamburger meat is made from-plastic and cow ass."

"No!"

"Yes!"

"I don't wanna eat it!"

"I don't give a fuck! Just fucking shut up!"

"But I'm hungry!"

It happened so fast, if you'd blink you'd miss it. A black convertible as dark as Ivan's (this weird Russian exchange student) aura sliced in front of us, cutting us off. I slammed the breaks, lurching both Alfred and I forward, but not through the window shield. Suddenly, a huge bang on my side flung our sky so high, I could of sworn I groped a cloud. We crashed down on the rough turf harshly, popping all of your tires and shattering the windows. Alfred ducked down with his hands over his neck, and acting on instinct, I threw myself over him to protect him from the shards (brotherly love I never knew I had).

We stayed in silence in the smokey dark of the compacted car as I regretted wanting to die until Alfred whispered, "Arthur...are you okay?"

I was about to reply when I felt something rip through my left side. My breath caught in my throat, my eyes bugled and I whispered a meek, "help" before I placed my hand on my side, unknowingly shoving the chunk of glass into it.

Alfred untangling himself from my numb grip and wiggled out of the totaled truck, screaming in a voice I never thought possible, "Help! Someone help my brother!" Even though all I could see were the torn leather seats and the trashed floor, I assumed his face was covered in ash and smoked and some of his clothes were ripped with some blood-not as much as mine-on them, waving his scratched hands desperately. I tired to move my head but my neck-as well as the rest of my body-was paralyzed and numb and darkness was closing in.

"Please help!" Alfred continued to cry heartbreakingly. "Please help!"

Just when I thought that I was going to die on the side of the road, I heard a car stop, footsteps thump closer to Alfred, and a heavily accented voice ask, "Dear me, is there any thing I can faites?" It sent shivers down my spine, good and bad.

"My brother..." Alfred whimpered. "He's...He's stuck. He...he risked his...life...for...for..."

"Shh..." He hushed. "Is he still in the car?"

"Yes." I swear, I think Alfred was about to drown in his tears.

"You dial 911, while I'll try to get him out," He said, tossing what I think was his cell phone, to Alfred.

Footsteps drew closer to the car, as he called out in his foreign tone, "_Mon lapin? Là où êtes vous_?"

Having no idea what he was saying, I choked out, "He...here," as pain rippled through my throat and chest.

"If you can hear me, say something, _mon lapin_!" He shouted, obviously not hearing me. "Say something!"

"I'm here, you damn foreigner!" I shouted, another wave of pain and a new one of nausea rolled in my body.

"Are you in the front of the car or in the back?"

"Front..." I whimpered, feeling something stab me in the side.

"Don't close your eyes! Keep on talking, _mon lapin_!"

"Okay..."

"I'm at the passenger's window. Can you move any part of your body?"

"They're aren't picking up!" Alfred shrieked, punching random buttons.

"N-no," I uttered, just as a face appeared at the window.

The first and last thing I noticed were his tender, midnight blue eyes. If I was standing, I could of melted.

"Stay with me," He whispered, his voice growing fainter and fainter. Blackness creeped closer until it was all I could see.

Then I realized...he was French.

**Damnit**.


	3. Chapter 2

_-9th, 19th, 29th, 39th, ect._

-x-

_**Chapter Two**_

It's not that I don't like French people, it's just when ever I run into them, bad luck loves to come and fucking find me.

I was six when I first noticed it. Our new neighbors happened to be french and they had a son who was about seven.

My mum insisted that I go and introduce myself to him so we could be best friends (I'm rolling my eyes here). When the door slammed open a blonde boy wearing nothing but a rose on his...part...was leaning on the firm door frame.

"Bonjour, mon amour," he mumbled dreamily, stepping forward. I hate to admit it, but even my six year old mind agreed he was pretty hot for a seven year old, but that doesn't excuse that he was looking at me like a fifty year old pedophile would at...well...me.

He tumbled forward, shoving us both onto the porch floor in front of Alfred who was playing on our filthy lawn. That was when I noticed the frenchie reeked of wine. _Wasted at this age? Sad..._

"Mom!" I yelled as soon as she stepped out and saw us. "Our neighbor's a bloody perv!"

Another time was when I was at the park and this fifty year old french guy smacked my ass and whispered, "Zittle boys shouldn't be out here azlone."

I still shutter at the memory.

That's why when I realized that guy was french, it was almost like a death sentence.

The first thing I realized as I was waking up was the burring scent of disinfectant. And cinnamon cologne. Shit. (I assume cinnamon is french.)

I slowly opened my eyes, expecting to see the hospital ceiling-the noise cued me in on where we were-but instead, I saw the same midnight-blue eyes peering at me from extremely close range.

I was not blushing, my cheeks were just turning red and my heart sped up, that's all.

"Who the damn fuck are you?" I sneered, guard up.

His eyes took a playful turn. "I though you would be more gentle to the person who saved your life."

"No, I tend to be angry at the person who cut me off and cause the whole damn thing."

"Ah, petit pirate idiot," I didn't need a dictionary to translate what that ment. "No, I wasn't there in the first place. My friends Gilbert and Antonio were drag racing-"

"It's still your fault. You're friends with them."

He pouted, his silky lips frowning. For some reason, I wanted to see him smile instead. "As I was saying, Antonio's the one who cut you off."

I growled.

"Again, Je suis très désolé for this accident." He sighed, trying to be cool, but his eyes held a layer of worry. I could blackmail him later if I ever saw him again. "I know what you're going to say, mon petit pirate, 'What the hell are three collage guys drag racing in the middle of-'"

"What?" I could feel my insides twist.

"Ce qui? Anway, it started when Gilbert bet that Antonio couldn't drink eight shots of vodka- "

"Collage...what collage do you all go to?" I choked.

"I'm a second year at Hathrow Edwards Tomith Astrui Lythel Ivanburks Academy, but everyone there calls it HETALIA."

I could nearly barf.

"Shit," I mumbled as my wish came true and I heaved my breakfast all over the bed. "Fuck."

The future-pedophile smiled.

"I'll go get the nurse," he beamed as he trotted out, but he popped his head back it and smiled again.

"I take it I'm going to see you quite often, first-year."


	4. Chapter 3

_The 9th review goes to The Rico Suave! Thank you for being the 9th reviewer! _

_Many people are asking me why the 9th, 19th, 29th, ect. It's because 9 is my lucky number of course! *smiles*_

_Keep on reviewing and thank you and congraulations to The Rico Suave!_

-x-

**_Chapter Three_**

Now that I realized it, that bloody french creep look a hell of a lot like the seven year old boy back then. He had the same creamy skin, innocent blonde curls, a sly smile, but one thing bugged me. Even though they looked exactly the same from my memories, I couldn't remember the boy's eyes. I can promise that they were defiantly not the same. The younger frenchie's eyes were brighter and shinier, even though I could clearly smell the alcohol in his breath. This one's...I don't know. They were deeper and more profound, melancholy almost, as if he was missing someone.

Ever since I woke up, that blasted frenchie's been visiting me every day. I could of died from aggravation...or something else. The first full day I was awake, I got a pretty good look of my room. It had blank walls, no windows, one light that dangled over head, and a piss-stained floor. I cringed. I had later learned that my legs were both broken in three places and there was a gaping whole in my side where the chunk of glass had penetrated. Even though it wasn't deep enough to be near-fatal, it hurt like hell. My hands were just bruised, thank God, and I only had a few more cuts and bruises.

After the nurse had cleaned me and the bed up from my stomach acids and digested scones, he came back in with a huge, three foot tall, bouquet of flowers, all arranged ornately with a little lacy tag around the vase.

"Here," The frenchie smiled, placing the flowers next to me on the nightstand. "They should _éclairez_ the room more."

"I don't speak French, you asshole."

"Sorry," His accent lacing his voice like a needle and thread. "I mean they should _brighten_ the room more."

"Well...I should thank you for that," I sat up and twiddled my sore thumbs like a nine year old. He stepped closer, leaning over me as my heart raced.

"But it's your damn fault that I'm in the hospital in the first fucking place," I shouted, glaring at him with my eyebrows furrowed around my green eyes. "_Abruti_."

When I said that, he actually looked slightly hurt. Slightly.

"_Désolé, mon petit pirate_, but, there's one good thing about this," He continued purring. All of a sudden, I felt his fingers brush the underside of my chin, making my entire body shutter numbly. "I atleast get to meet," His thumb and index fingers clutched my chin, pulling it up and holding it delicately as he would with a baby bird. "You."

As fast as he had snatched it, he dropped my chin, letting it bump back against my chest before I pulled it up. I frowned as he started to laugh.

"Your...French..." He chortled, tears nearly streaming out of his eyes. "Is very...haha...horrible." The frenchie's hands slammed the bed repeatedly, howling like a madman.

"_Abruti_," He mimicked in my own voice.

I growled. "Fuck you."

"I love you too," He smirked as he slid out.

The next day, he came back with several (to my dislike) French magazines, piled in his arms.

"What the fuck are you doing, frenchie?" I folded my arms. The bruises ached worse than ever.

"Let's make a collage," He smiled, dropping the load onto the bed. I winced, feeling every paper collapse on my swollen legs.

"Why the fuck would I want to do that?" I asked, trying to shove them off.

"To kill time, no?" Pulling out two scissors from his pocket, the frenchie sighed again. "And, I'm curious about you and your likes."

I smiled. "It sounds like you're going to dissect me."

"_Oui_, _oui_," He smiled. "I cannot wait to see your insides outside, _hon hon_~" He sliced the air with the kid-scissors. "Me and the evil training scissors of death!"

We both laughed, our faces flushed red. The pain stabbed my side, but at that moment, I didn't care. All I wanted was to be beside him at that moment, smiling along side with him.

-x-

_Haha~ What does the note say? Write a review on what you think it is or on anything else. Flames are accepted because I am currently running low on firewood hehe~_


	5. Chapter 4

_It's up! I hope you enjoy!_

_Ughh that part about the collages was soo stupid.. *metal slap*...gomenasai!_

_-x-_

**_Chapter Four_**

The Frenchie sat down on my bed, nearly hitting my legs. He smirked, letting his hand trail up and down my legs, dangerously close to my thighs. I swatted him away every time I was able to reach. Silence weighted on both of our chests.

"Dumbass," I said. He looked up.

"Oui, mon lapin. What do you need?" I smiled, seeing that he respond to his new name, Dumbass...but speaking of names...

"What is your name?"

"Eh?"

"Your name, you bloody git, unless you want me to keep calling you _Fucktard_."

He only smiled, his midnight eyes flicking with amusement.

"My name is Francis."

"Francis?"

"_Oui?_"

"That's a fucking stupid name." I rolled my eyes. "I mean, you came from France, have a French accent-"

"And have a french younger brother."

"And your parents named you Francis."

"_Oui._"

"That's just...well...fucked up." I fell back on my bed and knitted my hands behind my head. It was much more comfortable than the pillow I was given.

"Hon hon~ but you like it."

"What the bloody hell? No!" I could feel his hand graze my thigh. _Damnit..._

"You know, if my legs weren't paralyzed I would kick your ass back to France."

"But they are." Francis smiled deviously, his hand trailing higher than I would of liked.

"ARRTHHHUUURRR!" Alfred bolted into the room, panting like he'd run a marathon. I was thankful for the intrusion until he threw his arms around my neck, choking and bruising it at the same time.

"Mph...mmhmmph..."

"Ah, monsieur, I think you're killing him," Francis pointed out after seeing my face colour shift from red to purple and my eyes start to bulge.

"Oh man, sorry bro," He apologized, backing off. That was when I felt something wet in my hair. And noticed the dripping, double-burger hamburger in his hand.

"Are you freakin serious?" I mumbled, feeling the grease roll down my scalp and my neck. "Alfred, what the fuck is in that thing?"

"Um...I don't really know." He looked at the sandwich. "But it tastes good!" Francis smiled.

"Shit, now I need a towel."

"Hon hon hon~" Francis chuckled. "Or would you like me to give you a full sponge bath?"

I growled at him. "Don't even think about it, bastard." I glanced around at the clock. "College starts today, and you should probably get your ass out of here." My gaze also feel on Alfred. "You too."

Something bugged me about the way Francis and Arthur smiled at me.

"What?"

"Under section eighteen, paragraph C, it says, that if a close family member or friend is register in the hospital for more than a week, one may take a few days off," the French bastard quoted.

"Hey!" I sprung up, instantly regretting it as pain shot up through my side and more grease rolled down my skin. "The only exception to that might be Alfred, but no way in hell would it be you!"

He frowned slightly, but his smirk resurfaced.

"_Mon cher_," Francis purred. "But, I am indeed, your closet friend at the school, non?"

Oh, I really wanted to punch the bastard.

Hard.

In the face.

But at the same time...

"So, are you staying or going? Make up your mind, frenchie," I snarled.

"I think I'll stay."

Half of me wanted to die, but not from anger.

"Iggy, I'm sorry, but I gotta go get our stuff ready and packed in our dorms..." Alfred's eyes were shifty, signaling he knew what Francis's interions were. I was screwed.

"No, Alfred, I-" Just as I sat up, he darted out, leaving a path of beefy fat and oil.

"So...Arthur..."

"Fuck you." I crossed my arms and laid back on the bed. I could hear him smiling.

"I love you too, _mon cher._"

'Till this day, I'm still gald he spent the night with me inside of that dreary hospital, by my side. But not way in hell will I let anyone know that!


End file.
